


Stuck on You

by Torchiclove



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: F/F, Pining, beau is gay and angry, it's just fucking pining, preferably by a hot woman, she just wants to get beat up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-16 15:00:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13638612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchiclove/pseuds/Torchiclove
Summary: Beauregard can't get the thought of Yasha out of her head, and it'sreallystarting to piss her off.





	Stuck on You

There’s one burning thought in Beauregard’s mind that night, and it’s not the fire she just watched consume the other inn. It’s that fucking barbarian.

She’s met a lot of hot women in her life. That elf lady who kicked her ass? Hot. That girl with the dark curls she hooked up with three towns back? Hot. This tall, built, pick you up without a sweat, smile that could melt a glacier, ‘I’ve got a better game, I’ll show you later’ mountain of a woman? _Hot_.

Her face, her body, her fuckin’ ripped arms, they’re practically burned into Beau’s retinas as she stares at the dark ceiling from her spot on the floor. Everyone else is asleep, or at least she thinks they are. They’re all crammed into this room, the bed conceded to Fjord after little argument.

Beau can’t stand it, not when she’s being kept up by her shit-ass brain’s weird obsession with this one woman. She glances around and gets up. 

She sees the flash of Molly’s eyes (bright red in the darkness, creepy as hell), looking at her, and they share brief eye contact. He says nothing, and she says nothing, and they have a silent agreement that whatever Beau’s doing totally isn’t happening as far as Molly’s concerned. She catches his faint sneer as she turns and walks out of the room.

She doesn’t know _what_ she’s doing, only that she rushes out the door and into the cold night air, feeling the faint sting of it in her lungs. She can still taste the ash and smoke lingering from the fire, taking the crisp air and turning it acrid. 

She thinks this will help, but it fucking doesn’t. Now she’s kinda cold and can’t see very well and is still thinking about Yasha, about how effortlessly she picked her up, about the faint way she _swore_ her eyes lingered on Beau for just a second longer than everybody else.

 _Wishful thinking_ , she chides herself, walking briskly down a nearby alleyway, just to feel the distraction of movement. There isn’t much to see in this town; it’s just like all the other podunk places she’s passed through. Good for cheap booze and a place to stay, not much else. 

Good for some extra coin, maybe, and a good fight. A good fight is what she _needs_ right now, to feel the crack of a fist again her cheek. She thinks, immediately, of what it would feel like if Yasha punched her in the face. Beau saw the way she swung that greatsword; a hit would probably knock her off her feet. 

But she could get a few good hits in before that, definitely. She’s quick, nimble. Maybe they’d be an even match. Maybe Beau could even beat her, knock her out and have the satisfaction of grabbing her hand to pull her back to her feet. Help with bandages and salves for the bruises.

And _that’s_ the fucking problem. Beau doesn’t normally care about what happens after the fight, but with Yasha, it’s all she can think of. And she’d be lying if she said it wasn’t like that when she thought about the sex, too.

Because of _course_ she’d thought about that, how could she not, when Yasha’s that fucking beautiful? And maybe she’s been wrapped up in other things, and maybe it’s been a while, and maybe she’s just feeling lonely, but none of that would explain why she can’t stop thinking about the _after_. About the _next time_. Hell, she'd be fine with doing all the other stuff (the kissing, the cuddling, the bed sharing) _without_ the sex as long as it was with this one woman.

Beau punches the wall of the building she’s next to, no idea what it is or how far she’s walked down the winding alley. It makes a loud, satisfying thud, but the way it hurts her hand only makes her angrier. She kicks it for good measure and gets the same response. She bangs her two fists into it, involuntarily letting out a frustrated yell that reverberates through the still night. 

Fuck, that was probably a bad idea, but _come on_. She wishes there were more gnolls around to hit, anything really, just something to get her mind off this one-track path it’s started down. 

This is stupid. She’s being so _stupid_. She starts here way back to the inn, dragging her feet, wishing every moments that Yasha would come leaping out of the darkness and continue her journey with them. Wishful. Fucking. Thinking. It never got her anywhere, and it wouldn’t now.

She resists the urge to slam the door, clenching and unclenching one of her fists. It’s two am, there’s no one in the room, not even the innkeeper. She grabs the first bottle she sees a takes a long swig of it. It tastes awful, burns down her throat, but it’s something. She takes one more gulp and sets it down where she found it, making a note that the alcohol here is _real_ easy to steal, and makes her way back up to the room. 

She quietly opens the door and slips in, trying to pick her way across all the bodies sleeping on the floor without waking them, her bedroll conveniently all the way across the room. She winces as she feels her foot hit something and realizes that it’s Jester’s side. 

She waits a tense moment as the tiefling shifts, and just as she thinks she’s clear, her eyes open.

“Beau?” She asks softly, like she’s half in a daze, but Beau knows from experience she won’t be like that for long. Jester doesn’t know how to be sleepy.

“Go back to sleep,” Beau whispers harshly, turning away.

“Where’re you going?” Her voice has already doubled in volume, barely able to qualify as a whisper anymore. 

Beau narrows her eyes and grits her teeth. “Back to bed. I had to pee.”

Jester sits up and cocks her head to the side, smiling brightly. “Your hand is bleeding,” she chirps.

Beau looks down and sees the fist she’d hit the building with, knuckles scraped and bloody, something she’d failed to notice in her rage. She closes her eyes and breathes in deeply, trying not to snap, because Jester doesn’t really deserve it.

“I almost died fighting skeletal hyenas today. Of course my hand is bleeding.”

“Okaaaaay,” Jester says coyly, and she has that knowing look in her eye she gets when she pointedly doesn't call someone on their bullshit. “Good night Beauregard!” She bundles back up into her bedroll, but is still clearly watching intently. 

“Night Jester,” Beau sighs, and she makes it back to her bedroll in peace. She lays down on her back and tries to take a few deep breaths to stop being so _pissed_ , and she spends a moment cursing the lack of privacy in the shared room. No matter. Time to sleep.

But when she closes her eyes, all she can see is fucking Yasha.

**Author's Note:**

> hey y'all i know i just posted a beauyasha fic like two days ago but l o o k. I've found it. My passion.


End file.
